Dem Jeans
by MsWriterTee
Summary: In this one-shot, Rick and Michonne discuss his favorite piece of apparel.


**AN: A little fun with Rick and Michonne discussing his favorite piece of apparel.**

* * *

"Where are they?"

"Rick." Michonne hastily entered the bedroom and closed the door after returning from her early-morning errand to find her husband standing naked in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed, instead of in bed where she'd left him happy and sated. "You were asleep."

"I was. You tired me out." Michonne smiled. That had been her plan. He'd tired her out, too. Leaving air-conditioned comfort before the crack of dawn after having her world thoroughly rocked by a very attentive Rick wasn't easy, but she was committed to this undertaking. "But I'm awake now. Where are they?" Rick repeated.

"Which they?" she asked, choosing to play coy. The knit of Rick's brow and his quick intake of breath made clear he wasn't buying her act, but she was determined to push this for a long as she could. "Gigi, RJ, and Autumn are asleep. See?" She pointed at the baby monitor that showed their nearly two-year-old triplets sleeping like the angels they were. Georgia Glynne, Rick, Jr., and Autumn were the sweetest surprises ever. They'd had so many losses at the hands of Negan and the Saviors, but after doing away with these monstrous threats once and for all, and getting the world re-ordered and the communities strong and thriving, their happy family grew exponentially the following fall. "As for Carl and Judith, they're …" She groaned at the deepening furrow of his brow. The jig was up. "What?"

"You're dressed, and you wouldn't be if you'd gone to check on the children, but you weren't gone very long." He winced. "You did it, didn't you?"

"I made a decision for the greater good of the Grimes family, yes." She met his incredulous look without batting an eye. "A decision you will have to accept."

"Excuse me?"

Moving past her miffed husband, Michonne plopped down on the bed and pulled off her boots and jeans. "You're excused," she said, sliding under the lightweight covers. The sun had barely risen and it was already stifling out. It made her short excursion feel like it was a thousand-mile journey. "I'd like to get a little more sleep before the babies wake up." Sighing contentedly, she turned on her side and nestled against her cool, comfortable pillow.

Rick scoffed. "Michonne?"

"Can we do this later?"

"No. I want to do it now." He sat at her feet. "See how you peeled off your jeans there?" he said, waving a finger toward the garment on the floor. "When you wake up from your sleep and they're not here, what will you do?"

"Go to the closet and get another pair. Something you should've been doing for a long time now."

"Do you know how long it took me to break in those jeans?"

"Too long, because you were starting to break out of them. If I was going around for years with my ass literally hanging out a pair of jeans so worn I could almost see through them, I would expect you as my husband, and the man I love with all my heart, to get rid of them for my own good. And I did that for you." She thought of Rick stitching those jeans after his battle with Winslow the walker when she believed that slash at the knee would finally mark the end of those jeans, but she should've known better, and that was three years ago. "I think all the other communities will throw a parade for me in celebration of this event I made happen. A commemoration of the day you walked out of our house in a different pair of jeans." She chuckled. "Michonne Grimes Day."

Rick didn't crack a smile. "Did you burn them, bury them, or take your katana to them?"

"I gave them a fitting end, Rick, don't worry," she said, closing her eyes.

"Michonne." Her eyes flew open at his annoying whine. "You could've given me a little warning."

"Warning? Seriously?" She sat up against the headboard. "We're talking about a pair of jeans."

"My jeans," he grumbled.

"Our jeans. When we got married, you said what's yours is mine."

"You loved those jeans when we got married."

"I loved _you_ when we got married, but I stopped liking those jeans long before that. In fact, long before we got together or even left Georgia. But we didn't have a lot then, in fact next to nothing, so we had to hold on to our possessions. You held on too long, Rick. Way too long. You are too sexy for raggedy jeans." She kissed the side of his neck and propped her chin on his shoulder, raking her fingers through his silky curls. "You know I'm right."

Rick groaned. "If I didn't love you so much…" he said with a kiss.

"But you do."

"Yes, I do." He crawled next to her under the covers. "What did you do to them, Michonne? I have to – I have to know."

His pitiful expression almost made her laugh. "You have to know?"

He nodded. "Yes, yes, I do. I need to make peace with this."

"Fine. I got your jeans and I…"

"Yes," he said, his eyes closed and body tight like that of a little kid about to get a bandage ripped from a new wound.

"I gave them to Mrs. Brown."

His eyes peeked open. "Mrs. Brown?" His dour expression brightened. "The patchwork lady that joined us six months ago?"

"Yes. Those jeans were tatters, you had to stop wearing them, but I know what they mean to you, so I gave them to Mrs. Brown to add to the quilt she's making for us. So don't worry, sweetie, your beloved jeans will live on…Forever."


End file.
